The seasons shifted like whispered secrets.
Spring melted into summer, and with it, the days grew long and golden. The scent of sun-warmed herbs lingered in the wind. Bees buzzed lazily over blooming flowers, and the village sank deeper into its gentle, sleepy rhythm.
Caelum had never known peace like this.
Every morning, he woke with purpose—not the grand, destiny-driven kind, but the quiet joy of knowing he'd be seeing her.
Elaria.
He swore the lavender in his garden only bloomed brighter when she was around. Probably magic. Probably just her.
She still hadn't told him much. Not about her past. Not about what brought her to this out-of-the-way village. But she didn't have to.
The shadows in her eyes told their own story.
And he respected them.
"Hey," Caelum called one afternoon, poking his head over the stone wall that separated his garden from hers. "You ever think about leaving this place?"
Elaria looked up from a patch of chamomile. "Why would I?"
"I dunno. Sometimes I feel like the world's waiting for us to come back to it."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I already came back once. I don't think I want to do it again."
He blinked.
"You make it sound like you were someone important."
She met his gaze. "Maybe I was."
A silence passed between them like a cloud.
Then, like always, she defused it with that soft smile of hers.
"Besides," she added, tucking hair behind her ear, "I've got too many plants to abandon."
Caelum chuckled. "Yeah. They'd riot."
That evening, a traveling merchant passed through the village—a rare event.
The man set up near the well, laying out trinkets, scrolls, and strange powders that shimmered in the dusk.
Naturally, Caelum approached out of sheer boredom and an itch for minor chaos.
"What's this?" he asked, pointing at a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
"Ahh, good eye," the merchant said, voice slick with charm. "A talisman for forgotten souls. Helps those who've lost themselves remember who they were."
Caelum raised an eyebrow.
"Bit dramatic, innit?"
"Some memories are worth remembering," the merchant replied with a grin too wide to trust.
Caelum stared at the pendant for a second longer.
He didn't buy it.
But later that night, lying beside Elaria under the stars, he told her about it anyway.
And she grew very, very still.
Elaria didn't speak for a long time after Caelum mentioned the merchant's talisman.
The candle between them flickered. Outside, the summer crickets chirped like they were trying to fill the silence with sound alone.
"...You okay?" Caelum finally asked, his voice soft.
She blinked. "Yes. It just... reminded me of something."
"Old boyfriend?"
Her lips twitched. "Nothing like that."
"Old assassin nemesis?"
Now she actually laughed, which he counted as a small win. "You've read too many books."
"Wrong," he said, holding up a finger. "I've been in one. I just refused the main plotline."
She gave him a look.
"What? The game literally tried to hand me a 'Go to Magic Academy and Save the World' ticket and I said, 'Nah, I'm good. I have seeds to plant and Goats to befriend.'"
"You and those Goats," she murmured, sipping her tea.
"They're my emotional support squad."
But her mood didn't fully return.
That night, she lay beside him, back to his chest, her fingers curled tight under her chin. He felt her shift just slightly when the wind rustled the windowpane. Tense.
He wanted to ask. About her past. About the pain that sometimes flickered behind her softest smiles.
But she hadn't offered.
So he didn't pry.
The merchant was gone by morning.
No cart. No scent. No trace.
And the pendant? That strange, crescent-shaped talisman?
Gone too.
Caelum stood in the village square, hands in his pockets, frowning at empty cobblestones.
It was like the man had never been there.
"You alright?" asked old Martha, one of the village elders, as she walked by with her walking stick and three ducks in tow.
"You remember that merchant from yesterday?" Caelum asked.
"Merchant?"
Caelum blinked. "Yeah. Guy with the spooky trinkets. Spoke like he knew everyone's secrets."
Martha stared blankly. "You been drinking my plum wine again?"
Caelum frowned. "...No comment."
He found Elaria later by the edge of the woods, where the river met the lavender grove.
She was sitting with her feet in the water, quietly weaving wildflowers into a crown.
"Hey," he said, flopping down beside her. "So either I hallucinated that merchant yesterday, or no one else saw him."
She didn't look at him. "I saw him."
"Thought so."
A pause.
"Did he seem... off to you?"
"Very."
"Like, possibly-a-spectral-memory-salesman kind of off?"
She tilted her head. "You've been thinking about him a lot."
"Because weird things don't just happen in a sleepy village unless they're about to turn into a tragic backstory."
She let out a small snort. "So dramatic."
"I'm just saying. I read genre cues. If someone shows up with memory-related magical artifacts and then disappears, that's not just a Tuesday."
Elaria didn't answer.
Instead, she handed him the flower crown.
"You talk too much."
He placed it on his head like royalty. "You just don't appreciate my plot-awareness."
That night, the wind changed.
Something colder. Heavy.
The sky cracked open in a surprise downpour, and Caelum ran out to cover the crops, cursing the gods, the game world, and his unreasonably hydrophobic goat.
When he finally got back inside—soaked, muddy, and half-frozen—Elaria was waiting with a dry towel and a look that said idiot, but mine.
They didn't say anything else.
He just held her for a long time.
And for a while, everything was still.
The summer passed in quiet moments like this.
Dawn came early, bathing the fields in warm light. Caelum and Elaria would share breakfast, sometimes in the garden, sometimes inside as the rain tapped gently against the windows. The peace between them was simple, undemanding. It felt like the kind of life Caelum had always imagined when he first fled the chaos of the world he'd left behind.
Yet, even in this idyllic existence, something lingered just beneath the surface.
It was a week after the storm when the change came.
Caelum was fixing the fence near the northern edge of the property when he noticed Elaria sitting in the garden, staring off into the distance. Her hands, usually so steady with the herbs and flowers she tended to, were motionless, and the sun seemed to set faster as the shadows crept closer. Her body language was different—like she was far away, lost in something she didn't want to be found in.
She was hiding.
Caelum approached cautiously, not wanting to break whatever fragile moment it was, but her tension was palpable. The moment he stepped close enough for her to hear his footsteps, she snapped out of whatever trance she was in, her hands quickly grabbing for a basket of flowers she hadn't been holding a second before.
"You okay?" Caelum asked, leaning over the low stone wall.
She smiled at him, but it was a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine. Just... thinking."
Caelum raised an eyebrow, sitting on the stone wall next to her. "About?"
She hesitated, glancing up at the sky, where the sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon. The faint traces of a storm cloud were gathering at the edge of the forest, dark and ominous.
"It's nothing," she said, her voice a little too soft, a little too practiced. "Just... memories."
Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, and Caelum realized then that the layers of her past were still buried deep inside her—things she hadn't let him close to yet. He knew her too well by now. She was trying to protect herself, trying to keep him out.
But how long would it last?
Caelum didn't push. He didn't need to.
Instead, he reached for the basket she was still clutching tightly, gently pulling it out of her hands. "Well," he said with a smile, "let's finish picking these before the storm gets here. Then we can make a nice dinner and pretend the weather's still perfect."
She smiled faintly at his words, and together, they continued their work. The rain would come later—there was always time for that.
Later that night, when the storm had finally arrived, Caelum found himself in the same spot he always ended up—sitting beside Elaria as they watched the rain batter against the roof. The sound was soothing, a reminder that life here could be simple.
As they sat together, Elaria's gaze never left the window. The flickering candlelight cast shadows over her face, making her look both fragile and distant. Caelum wondered how many nights she had spent like this, staring into the night, listening to the world spin without her.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been building between them.
Elaria turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. "Leaving?" she repeated.
"Yeah. I mean... this place, this life. You're here with me, but you don't have to stay. You could go back. To wherever you came from."
She looked away, her eyes focusing on something far beyond the window. "Sometimes," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper, "I think about what I left behind. But then I think about what I've found here." She turned her gaze back to him, and this time, there was a rawness in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "I can't go back. Not to that life. Not to who I was."
Caelum didn't press her for more. He could see the vulnerability in her, the walls she'd built over the years. He wouldn't destroy them—at least not yet. He wanted to know her, but he also understood that some parts of her had to be earned.
Instead, he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Then we'll stay. Here. Together."
She looked at him for a long moment, a quiet smile pulling at her lips. "Together."
For a second, Caelum felt like he had everything. A home. A purpose. A family.
But something inside him twisted, a feeling he couldn't shake. Something was coming. He didn't know what, but he could feel the weight of it hanging over them.
The following week, Elaria began to act differently.
It was subtle at first—like the way she held herself, a little too rigid, a little too careful. She avoided Caelum's questions, speaking less when they worked together in the fields. At night, she seemed distant, like she was somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't follow.
And then, one afternoon, he found her standing in the middle of their small home, her fingers clutched tightly around a strange piece of fabric. It was a deep violet, finely woven, with intricate silver patterns that Caelum didn't recognize.
Elaria's hand trembled as she touched it, her face pale. When she noticed him watching, she quickly shoved the fabric into a drawer, slamming it shut with an almost frantic urgency.
"What was that?" Caelum asked, his voice low, cautious.
Elaria stiffened, her eyes darting to the drawer. "Nothing," she said, her voice too tight, too controlled. "Just... something I found."
Caelum didn't believe her. There was something in her expression—a flash of recognition, of pain—that he couldn't ignore.
"Elaria," he said gently, his voice softening. "You don't have to hide from me."
She took a step back, her gaze flickering with indecision. Then, as if making a choice, she exhaled sharply and spoke.
"I'm not hiding," she said, her voice steady but full of something Caelum couldn't place. "But there are parts of me—parts of my life—that you don't need to know about. Not yet."
He nodded, not pushing her any further. "Okay. But whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'm here."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with a soft sigh, she walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"I know."
The days blurred together in a rhythm of work, quiet dinners, and the gentle passage of seasons. Caelum and Elaria fell into a comfortable routine, but there was a growing weight between them—a quiet tension that neither of them spoke about, but both of them felt.
Caelum kept himself busy with the crops, fixing fences, and checking on the livestock. He needed to stay occupied, to keep his mind from wandering. To keep his thoughts from unraveling.
Elaria, on the other hand, grew increasingly distant. She still smiled at him, still held his hand in the evenings, but something had changed. Her touch was lighter, like she was afraid to get too close. And when he looked into her eyes, he saw the flicker of something buried deep—something that still haunted her, no matter how many times she tried to bury it.
It was the subtle things that gave her away. The way she would freeze for a moment when he mentioned her past, the way her gaze would turn inward when she thought he wasn't watching. She was slipping further away, but Caelum couldn't figure out why.
That morning, the sun rose early and bright. The scent of earth and dew filled the air, and Caelum, already awake, was out in the garden, tending to the rows of herbs and vegetables. The work felt good. It grounded him.
But as he reached for a handful of herbs, he felt the sharp tug of his thoughts. Elaria. She had been acting strange again.
After the storm, she had grown quieter, more closed off. Sometimes, she would go off into the woods alone, staying out for hours. When he asked where she had been, she always gave him an answer, but it was never quite the truth.
He wiped his brow, stood up, and glanced toward the house. Elaria had been inside all morning, but there was something different in the way she was moving today. More anxious. More restless.
Caelum decided to follow her.
He found her in the small chapel at the edge of the property, the one they used to store their old tools and spare supplies. It was a humble structure, little more than a shelter from the rain, but it was a place Elaria had visited several times over the past few weeks. She would slip inside, alone, and remain there for hours, usually coming out with her expression unreadable, like she had left part of herself behind.
Caelum pushed open the door and stepped inside. Elaria was standing in the far corner, her hands pressed against the cold stone wall. She didn't notice him at first. She was too focused on something in her hands.
When he stepped closer, she turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing there, and for a moment, Caelum saw something flicker in her expression—a flash of something he couldn't place. Guilt? Fear? It was gone too quickly for him to understand.
"Elaria," he said softly. "What are you doing here?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she glanced down at her hands. The small fabric—dark purple, almost black in the dim light—was still clenched tightly between her fingers.
Caelum frowned. "What's that?"
For a moment, she didn't respond, her eyes flickering between him and the fabric. Her lips pressed together, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
"I don't—" she began, but the words faltered.
Caelum stepped closer. "Elaria. You've been acting strange. You're not telling me something, and I need to know what it is."
She shook her head, her voice coming out almost too calm. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Caelum replied, his voice firm but not harsh. "You don't have to keep this from me. Whatever it is, we can face it together."
Her eyes softened, and she let out a shaky breath. "You don't understand."
Caelum reached out, gently taking the fabric from her hands. He unfolded it carefully, revealing the silver patterns sewn into the dark cloth. It was a crest—a symbol Caelum didn't recognize.
Elaria's face paled.
"I don't need you to understand," she said, her voice quieter now. "I need you to trust me."
Caelum looked at her, his heart tightening. "I do trust you. But I can't keep pretending that everything is fine when you're keeping so much inside."
She stepped back, her hand reaching out as if she were about to touch him, but then stopping, pulling away at the last moment. "Please, Caelum," she said, her voice breaking. "Just… just let it go."
There was nothing Caelum could say. He was silent, watching her, waiting for the words that he knew she wouldn't say.
Elaria looked down, her hands trembling. "I'm not the person you think I am," she whispered. "And I don't want you to know. Not yet."
The words were like a blow to his chest. He had known there was more to her, but to hear her say it so plainly… It hurt in a way he hadn't anticipated.
"I know you have a past, Elaria," he said quietly. "We all do. But we're here now. Together. And if there's something you're hiding, I'm not going to force you to tell me. But when you're ready…" He paused, searching her eyes. "I'll be here."
She didn't speak for a long time.
Finally, she nodded, tears glistening in her eyes, though she didn't let them fall.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Caelum reached for her then, his arms wrapping around her, and she didn't pull away. She melted into his embrace, her face buried in his shoulder, as if she was trying to hide from herself.
"I love you," he said, his voice soft but firm, as he held her close. "Whatever this is, we'll face it together. I'm not going anywhere."
Elaria's breath hitched against his chest, and for the first time in days, she seemed to truly relax, just a little.
Days turned to weeks, and with each passing moment, Caelum felt the gap between him and Elaria widen, like the slow, imperceptible pull of a tide retreating from the shore. He couldn't explain it. She was still there, beside him, but something had changed. The ease between them, the laughter, the quiet moments of connection—everything seemed to have been replaced with an invisible weight.
He could feel it in the way she smiled—strained, like it took effort. He could hear it in her voice, the way it trembled sometimes when she spoke of things she didn't want to discuss. And the nights were the worst. She would curl up beside him, her body pressed against his, but she never seemed to truly rest, her mind always somewhere far away.
It wasn't that she was hiding herself from him—no, that was the opposite of what she was doing. She was hiding herself from her past, from whatever had driven her to this point. And Caelum? He was caught in the middle of it, unable to pull her back from the edge without knowing what she had left behind.
One evening, as they sat in front of the fire, Caelum tried again.
"You know, we could take a break tomorrow," he said, glancing at her across the low table. "Go for a walk up the hill, maybe pick some wildflowers. Or maybe just lay in the grass and stare at the sky until the rain starts again."
Elaria looked up at him, her gaze distant for a moment, as if she hadn't heard him. When she finally spoke, her words were quieter than usual.
"That sounds nice," she said, her voice hollow. Then she glanced down at her hands. "But I... I don't know if I can."
Caelum frowned. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated, and for a moment, he could see the familiar tension in her posture—like she was struggling with something inside her. But this time, something was different. There was a hardness to her features, a guardedness that he hadn't seen before.
"I think I need to go into town tomorrow," she said after a long pause. "There's something I need to take care of."
Caelum raised an eyebrow. "What's going on in town?"
"Just... things," she replied quickly. "Old business. Things I left behind."
He leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowing in concern. "Elaria, you don't have to do this alone. Whatever it is, I'm here."
She shook her head, her expression unreadable. "It's something I have to do. Please, don't follow me."
The finality in her tone made his chest tighten. But she was already standing, walking toward the door before he could respond.
The next morning, Caelum woke to the sound of raindrops tapping against the window, the weather cool and overcast. Elaria had already gone by the time he stirred, leaving only a quiet note on the kitchen table:
"I'll be back before dark. Don't worry about me. - E."
He stood there for a moment, staring at the paper in his hands. Her handwriting was hurried, almost frantic, as if she had written it in a rush, afraid that he might stop her from going. Caelum's heart sank. He knew that this was important to her, but part of him—no, most of him—wanted to follow her, to find out what she was keeping from him. But she had asked him not to, and for now, he would respect her wish.
Even if it tore him apart inside.
The hours stretched on in the small, quiet house as Caelum tried to keep his mind occupied. He tended to the crops, fixed a loose fence board, and took care of the animals, all the while his thoughts drifting back to Elaria. What was she doing in town? Why had she left so suddenly, without telling him the full truth?
By the time the sun began to set, Caelum was beginning to grow anxious. The sky had turned from gray to a deep purple, and the air had grown heavy with the promise of another storm. She had promised she'd return before dark, but the clock on the wall ticked louder with each passing minute, each moment of silence growing heavier than the last.
Finally, just as the wind began to pick up, he saw her—her figure framed against the darkening sky, walking slowly toward the house, her silhouette barely visible in the fading light.
Caelum rushed to the door, his heart pounding. "Elaria!"
She didn't respond at first. When she reached the threshold, she stopped, as if she were hesitating to come inside. Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders hunched in a way that spoke of exhaustion, both physical and emotional. The rain had begun to fall in heavy sheets, and her clothes clung to her skin, drenched through.
"I told you not to follow me," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the storm.
Caelum's heart ached at the words, but he ignored them. "I was worried about you," he said, reaching for her, his hand gently brushing against her wet hair. "You didn't come back when you said you would. You—"
"I couldn't come back until it was done," she cut him off, her eyes lifting to meet his. There was a rawness there, a pain that made his breath catch in his throat. "I had to face it, Caelum. I had to face myself."
Her voice trembled, and for the first time, Caelum saw the walls around her begin to crack. He stepped closer, pulling her into his arms without thinking, holding her as she shuddered against him, her tears mixing with the rain.
"What happened?" he asked softly, his voice filled with quiet concern. "You don't have to keep carrying this alone. I'm here."
She clung to him for a moment, her body shaking as she let out a breathless sob. "I don't want to be who I was before, Caelum. I don't want to go back to that life, but I have to confront it. It's the only way to move forward."
Caelum pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "You don't have to be anyone you don't want to be. And you don't have to do it alone. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."
Elaria closed her eyes, her breath catching as she tried to calm herself. "I'm scared," she whispered. "I don't know if I can."
"You can," he said, his voice filled with certainty. "You've already started. And I'll be right here, every step of the way."
For a long time, they stood there, holding each other, the rain continuing to pour around them. The storm outside might have raged on, but for the first time in a long while, Caelum felt like he was holding onto something real—something worth fighting for.